Lust, Actually
by bulletproof trucker hats
Summary: Crowley and Gabriel are maybe friends, sometimes enemies, convenient lovers, whatever they have to be to each other.  Each chapter is a ficlet, and may or may not connect to each other at some point. Rated T, but the ratings change in every chapter.
1. Working Hard

Working Hard (and other innuendos)

Rated: K

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><p>"Be a dear, would you, and bugger off, angel." Crowley said (as calmly as he could, under the circumstances, because it never did to let Gabriel see how much he really <em>was<em> getting under his skin).

"Be a dear and- _blah blah blah._" Gabe waved a hand at him dismissively. "Come on, you have to _live_ a little, Oh Mighty King of All Things Demony and Evil."

"_Crossroads _and _Hell_, darling." Crowley corrected. "I worked my arse off for those titles, so, if you'd _use _them-"

Gabriel snickered, and Crowley had a sudden sense of impending doom.


	2. Terms of Endearment

Rated: M

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><p>Crowley's not one for pillow talk. He's all business in bed, just like they're another kind of crossroads, and maybe, to him, they are.<p>

He knows exactly what needs to be done, what he has to say, has to do, how hard he has to push, to get the desired result.

Gabriel likes that, because it means that all he has to do is lie back and take Crowley's orders.

(It's comforting in the fact that it reminds him of The Archangel Days, when all he'd had to do was listen to his brothers and his Father. It's disturbing in the fact that it's _Crowley_ he's obeying right now.)

Crowley never calls him by name, when they're fucking.

(Because that's what they're doing. It's not love-making, or sex, or sleeping together. It's fucking, plain and simple.)

It's never 'Gabriel' or 'Gabe' or even 'Loki'.

"Whore." Crowley whispers in his ear, and Gabriel shudders. "That's all you are. A _whore_. A _slut_. And you're all _mine_, angel. Have anything to say to that?"

Gabriel doesn't talk. He knows better. Crowley's in control, and opening his mouth will only lead to pain that he doesn't want or need right now.

"Not talking, slut? Well then, if you're not speaking, you might as well put the lovely mouth to use."

Gabriel closes his eyes and opens his mouth, knowing what comes next, _wanting_ what comes next.

Crowley's the only one who can give him what he needs, and Gabriel loves him for it.


	3. Show and Tell

In which Gabriel hears rumors

Rated: T

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><p>"Been hearing interesting things about <em>you<em>, cupcake." Gabriel announces himself with that sentence, popping into an armchair in Crowley's living room.

"That 'cupcake' bit had better be about the hellhound, darling." Crowley shot back, one hand resting in thin air (Gabe _assumes _that's where the hellhound is, but hey, maybe there's not _even_ a hellhound in the room. Not like he can see them, and it's not like Crowley's above lying.) and the other hand flipping a page in his paper. He doesn't look up.

(Ignoring the Trickster doesn't deter him, but he was easier to deal with when you didn't have to see his insufferable smirk.)

"Of course it was, _buttercup_." Gabriel replies easily.

Crowley rolls his eyes. "And, _do_ tell, you heavenly five year old, what kinds of interesting things have you heard?"

Gabe leans forward, hands on his knees, conspiratorial smirk on his face.

"Oh, you know, _things_. About a certain Fergus McLeod, and a deal for…oh, what are the words I'm looking for? 'A couple of extra inches below the belt'."

Crowley raises an eyebrow. Gabriel waggles his suggestively.

"So, my question, _cupcake_, is- Wanna play show and tell?"

Crowley smirks and crooks a finger at the Trickster.

The paper hits the floor, as Gabriel snaps his fingers and pops into Crowley's lap.

(The hellhound lets out a low whine and slinks out of the room, as their clothes go by way of the paper.)


	4. In Which There Is Disagreement

Rated: K

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><p>"-and they make this dessert there with these strawberries that are absolutely <em>orgasmic<em>, hold on, lemme snap some up for you, man-"

Crowley, who'd partially stopped listening somewhere around the time Gabriel had begun describing the subtle nuances of various different snacks through the ages, absently spoke up.

"That's disgustingly kind of you, angel, but strawberry's not quite my thing."

Gabriel suddenly glared at Crowley, who, against all reason (or perhaps because of it) shuddered.

Not that he'd give Gabriel the satisfaction of seeing he had him off balance.

"What-" Gabriel spoke slowly, voice dangerous. "-do you mean, 'you don't like strawberries'?"


	5. In Which Coffee Is Sacred

In which you don't mess with a demon's coffee

Rated: T

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><p>Crowley's not sure what to think, when he walks into his kitchen and sees Gabriel perched on his counter-top.<p>

Actually, it's not that odd to find Gabriel _anywhere_ in his house. What made him raise an eyebrow is the way he's _dressed_.

Gabriel's dressed like a trigger-happy ex-cop on a mission who don't follow no rules (and he's actually mildly worried that he hears that line in Gabe's voice. He decides to find out later _just_ how much alcohol it's going to take to get him _screaming_ drunk).

"Angel." he says in greeting.

Gabriel swings his legs back and forth, and pulls his hat over his eyes.

"_Who are you working for?_" he barks at Crowley, the _ridiculous_ mustache he's wearing drooping off his upper lip.

Crowley walks past him, to get to the coffee pot, but Gabriel grabs his arm before he's close enough.

"_Tell me where the bomb is!"_

Crowley doesn't put up with a lot, and it's early morning, he'd had a rough day yesterday, _and Gabriel is keeping him from his fucking coffee._

"Darling, if you don't let go of me _right this bloody instant_, and let me get my coffee, I'm going to turn _you_ into a bomb."

Gabriel winks at him. "Sounds kinky, cupcake. _I like it_."

"That's lovely, love. You still haven't let me get my coffee."

"Maybe I _want_ you to make me…_explode."_

Gabriel lets go of him, and Crowley pours himself a overlarge mug of the stuff.

But the Trickster can't resist one last parting shot.

"_You'll never take me alive!"_

He flings out his arms dramatically, and in the process, knocks over Crowley's mug.

Crowley promptly sets his clothes on fire, not staying to hear him bitch about it, storming out of the kitchen, muttering something along the lines of "I'll _take_ you any bloody way I damn well please, and you'll _like_ it, angel."


	6. Over and Over Again

Alternately- 'That One Time They Fucked and Thought '_Damn we should do this _all_ the time_'

Rated: M

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><p>The first time they fuck, it's hot and dirty and shameful, and Gabriel loves every second of it.<p>

He's been in charge of Heaven for so long, and hiding from Heaven for such a long time, and just running, and running, and running, and it's…nice?

(It's not 'nice', because nothing about Crowley is '_nice_', but it's a relief to finally just _Be_. Not be Gabriel, and not be Loki, or the Messenger, or the Silver-Tongue, or part of The Host, or the Prince of Lies. Just him. Just Gabe.)

Crowley doesn't expect anything from him. He's a demon, Gabe's a (an angel? The Trickster?) whatever the hell he is now. They're both reasonably attractive, both looking for some release, and, well, _fuck_, the world is ending anyway, so why the hell not?

One night, one fuck, no strings attached, no repeat performances.

Except that's not how it worked out.

One night turned into two, turned into three, four, five, ten, and suddenly, it's almost _every_ night, that Gabe's writhing under Crowley, just to _feel_ something.

It's hot and dirty and shameful, and Gabe loves it so much he goes back for more.

Crowley is only too happy to oblige.


	7. The Reason For The Season

Gabriel tells Christmas like it is

Rated: T

Notes before reading: Everything in **bold **means that Gabe 'fixed' something in the reading. It'll make more sense when you read it. Fun fact- this was originally posted on Tumblr, which allows strike-throughs in their text, so I had to edit this for the site. To read it in it's original format, hit me up and I'll send you a link.

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><p>Gabriel's eating what must be his fourth box of candy canes <em>today<em> and belting out Christmas carols, and… (Crowley hesitates to use the word 'decorating', because that implies that Gabe has some sort of _method_ to all this, and the demon strongly suspects h e_doesn't_, because seriously, he has tinsel in places that should never know what tinsel _is_.)

But, call it a sense of curiosity, or a temporary lack of sanity that makes Crowley ask-

"Did it happen like they think it did?"

Gabriel looks at him, and raises an eyebrow. "Lots of things happen like they think it did. Wanna be a little more specific about 'it' and 'they'?"

Crowley raises an eyebrow and gestures to the holiday-themed destruction that surrounds them. "_This_. This whole…'On to thee a child is born, fa la la la la' nonsense."

Gabe blinks, thinks about it, and then goes "Oh. _Oh."_ He snorts. "Humans, man. They got the whole thing fucked up."

The archangel snaps himself up a Bible (and Crowley's half-tempted to make sure it's not made out of chocolate or something, because, _honestly_, he wouldn't put it past him.), and starts flipping through it.

"Genesis…nope, no…Jeremiah…not yet….Mark…closer…Whoops, Corinthians, went too far…Ah, there we go, The Gospel According to Luke."

He tosses the thing at Crowley.

"Go ahead, read it, educate yourself, heathen."

Crowley glares, because, seriously, 'heathen'? "_Demon_, darling, and proud of it." he murmurs, but starts scanning the page, regardless.

Quickly, he notices that Gabriel's done something to it, because there's writing in his careless scribble all over the damn thing, and parts that are completely blacked out, and words revised.

Gabriel notices him looking at it, and smirks. "I call it 'The Gabe News'." he says, proudly. "Get it? Get it? Like 'The Good News', except-"

"Yes, actually, I got that." Crowley cuts him off, and continues reading.

"_-in the sixth month of Elizabeth's pregnancy God sent the _**extremely dashing and charming **_angel Gabriel to a town in Galilee named Nazareth. He had a message for a young woman promised in marriage to a man named Joseph, who _**claimed to be**_ a descendant of King David_ **that one douchebag king guy from a few chapters back, seriously, did you just skip everything to get to this part?**_ The angel came to her and said _**'SURPRISE!…Hey, you're kind of sexy. Wanna make like mammals?'**

_Mary was deeply troubled by the angel's message, and she wondered what the words meant. **(**_**They sure made 'em dumber back then, even if they were lookers.)**_ The angel said to her, _**'Not that'd I'd normally offer, but you're supposed to have some sort of miracle child or something. And name him Jesus.'**

_Mary said to the angel 'I am a virgin. How, then, can this be?'_

_The angel answered, _**'You're kind of slow on the uptake, aren't you? We're gonna fuck, you're gonna get pregnant and hey, with any luck, Joseph won't have you stoned for being a whore, because let me tell you, that would kind of suck. For you."**

'_I am the Lord's servant,' said Mary; 'may it happen to me as you have said.'_

** THE ANGEL PUT HIS THINGY IN HER YOU-KNOW-WHAT AND THEY DID IT FOR THE FIRST TIME."**

Crowley looks up at Gabriel, and raises an eyebrow. Gabriel is grinning like a complete _idiot_, which isn't really new, but Crowley's seeing it in a new light, considering what he's just read.

"_Really_, angel. My Immortal?"

Gabriel pouts. "That entire thing, and _that's_ what you pick up on?"

"Yes, yes, bravo, you screwed the Virgin, good job, well done. _MY BLOODY IMMORTAL?_ We're _still_ trying to find the moron who made the deal for that piece of shit."


	8. Father, I Have Sinned

Rated: M

* * *

><p>Living with an archangelTrickster/whatever-the-fuck-Gabriel is isn't easy.

(Even if it's only kind-of sort-of living, because Gabe just pops in whenever he wants, for however long he wants, and goes wherever he damn well pleases. It's like kind-of sort-of living with a _cat_, actually.)

It really _isn't_ easy.

Like that time that Crowley opened the cabinets, expecting to see his Craig, and, instead, was almost flattened under an avalanche of Jolly Ranchers.

Or the other time, when Gabriel decided he wanted to celebrate Crowley's birthday, except Crowley's been a demon so long, he can't remember _when_ he was born, exactly, so they ended up 'celebrating' for two whole months.

(Crowley _still_ can't hear 'Happy Birthday' without wanting to sic one of his hounds on something. And we're not even going to _touch_ on his feelings about birthday cake.)

It's not easy.

But the sex makes it _completely_ worth it.

Like, right now, Crowley's sitting in a confessional that Gabe snapped up, and he's listening to the breathless voice from behind the screen.

(He can't _see _Gabriel, of course, but he's the King of Hell, darling, and he didn't get that far by not having at least a _little_ imagination.)

"Bless me, Father, fo-for I ha-_have_ sin-"

(Gabriel's voice breaks off into a throaty, porn-star moan, and it's all Crowley can do to sit there and listen, as Gabriel undoes himself.)

Crowley reaches up to loosen the clerical collar he's wearing (and isn't _that_ ironic).

"Go on, darling." he drawls out. "Tell me _everything."_


	9. Let's Watch Your Balls Drop

Alternately- A Heavenly (Hellish) New Year's

Rated: K+

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><p>Crowley keeps late hours, because, you know, evil doesn't sleep. Sometimes, he gets home, and it's dark, and he's okay with that, because, even if demons don't need to sleep, they <em>can<em> get the mother of all headaches from dealing with incompetent underlings and greedy, demanding mud monkeys all the live-long day.

More often than not, he comes home, and he can practically_see_ the light and music and _life_ spilling out into the street, which is actually a little worrying, because he supposedly has the house warded against being seen.

Those are the days Gabe has, for whatever reason, decided to pop in and make Crowley's life just a little bit more complicated.

Today (tonight, actually, it's just _that_ late) he gets home, and it's quiet, for once. He walks in, throws his jacket onto the kitchen counter, and loosens his tie.

"Mmmm, you didn't say you were going to put on a _show_." a low, appreciative voice murmurs from the direction of his couch.

It's Gabriel, and he looks like he's just woken up. (Angels, like demons, don't need to sleep, but Gabriel seems to take ungodly- that might be a poor word choice, considering- joy in flaunting his pagan-ness.) His hair's mussed, his eyes are at half-mast, and his voice has that rough, throaty quality that Crowley has mentally dubbed his 'post-blowjob' voice. For obvious reasons.

Crowley sets himself on the opposite end of the couch from the angel, because he honestly cannot think of a better way to end the day than some hardcore demon-on-angel action, and then he notices the TV.

Or, rather, the _ten_ TVs that have taken up residence in his living room.

"Angel." Crowley begins, before he can decide that it's probably safer and better for his overall mental health _not_ to ask. "_Why_ are there nine more television sets in my house than there were before I left this morning?"

Gabriel pops into his lap, not even bothering to snap his fingers to get there, and snuggles down. "It's to watch the balls drop."

Crowley blinks, because he's not really sure what to make of that statement. Gabe correctly interprets his silence as a subtle request for more information.

"It's New Year's Eve, cupcake, and we're going to watch the balls drop until the sun rises. I have them all set for different time zones."

Crowley can barely stifle a groan, because he's had a very long and stressful day of evil demon things, and all he wanted to do was throw himself onto his bed with an entire bottle of his Craig and maybe a plate of creampuffs, and watch that documentary on the Rwandan genocide he's been meaning to get to, until he managed to doze off.

But then he makes the mistake of looking down at Gabe. The angel's just as tired as he is- maybe more, because he's been running and hiding and pretending to be dead, and his own_family_ is trying to kill him or recruit him or _both_- and there's probably nothing more he wants to do than just _stop_ for a moment and rest, but he's _here_ instead, and he wants to celebrate New Year's with _him._

"Well," Crowley says. "If you'll move, I'll get some of those cookies you snapped up a few days ago, and we'll watch your balls drop."

Gabriel snickers at the innuendo, and lets Crowley up, but just as soon as there's a plate of cookies on the end table, and the demon's settling back on the couch, he frowns.

"Something's not right. Something's _missing_." He thinks for a moment. "I know!" he says and says the words that will haunt Crowley's nightmares for months to come. "_We need hats."_

So he snaps up some of those ridiculous party hats, the ones with the stupid rubber string that always manages to pinch your chin, and Crowley personally thinks that they're probably something a particularly creative demon dreamed up for torture down in the pit, but Gabriel's beaming when he shoves one on Crowley's head, and stuffs a noisemaker in his own mouth, and somehow, Crowley can't even bring himself to object.

They manage to make it though six time zones before Gabriel falls asleep on his lap, and Crowley doesn't even wake him up to get rid of the nine extra TVs, or the streamers, or the noisemakers, or the hats, or any of the paper plates and cups.

He just turns off the TV, grabs a blanket, and covers them both with it.

It's just a bit too short for both of them and Gabriel's toes are sticking out of the bottom, and Crowley's right side isn't covered at all, but all it does is make Gabe curl up into a kitten-ball of angel, and snuggle further into his chest, murmuring something that he can't make out.

Crowley smiles.

"Happy New Year's, angel." he murmurs.


	10. Temptations and Penance

Rated: M

* * *

><p>Contrary to popular belief, Gabriel wasn't really into dirty talk when he was in bed.<p>

(To no one's surprise, Crowley was perhaps a bit _too_ fond of it.)

Gabriel was fine with Crowley talking, just so long as he didn't expect him to reciprocate.

Talking (for Gabriel, at least), meant lying.

He'd done too much lying already. He's hurt people and killed people and abandoned people and lying is the root of all his evil, and isn't _that_ ironic, considering.

So, maybe, this…whatever _this _was with Crowley, was his penance.

(He's an angel and Crowley's a demon, and they're most decidedly _not_ lovers, or friends, or _anything _really. Once, when Gabe tried to term them as 'snuggle-buddies', Crowley fucked him hard enough that he couldn't see straight, all the while, whispering to him sinful threats -promises?- of what would happen if he ever, _ever_ used that term again.)

Gabriel's fingers tangled in the sheets, as Crowley did…_something_ with a roll of his hips, and his (soft, gasped, pleading) "Oh _Father_" was drowned out by Crowley's growl of "Bloody _fuck_, angel".

This, right here, right now, all sin and sweat and regrets, Crowley whispering temptations in his ear and taking his Father's name in vain, all for a quick fuck- this was his penance.


	11. The Elite Four

The Elite Four (And we're not talking Horsemen)

In which Gabriel has to catch them all

Rated: T

* * *

><p>Gabe's sprawled out on the floor of his study when Crowley walks in. The archangel-Trickster's got something in his hands, and it's emitting high pitched beeps and electronic action music.<p>

Crowley's used enough to this kind of thing, so he just steps over Gabriel on his way to his desk. (He's fine with however the angel's managed to occupy himself, as long as it keeps him out of his hair and let's Crowley get some work done.)

And then the muttering starts.

"C'mon. _C'mooooooooon_. Do it. Do it do it do it _do it._ DO IT. Gogogogogogogogogogo-MOTHER OF FUCK, CRITICAL HIT, MY ANGEL-ASS."

"Darling." Crowley's not a patient demon, not when it comes to Gabriel's antics. "Be a _quiet_ angel."

Gabe's tongue has migrated to the corner of his mouth, as he studies the screen. Crowley thinks that's quiet enough, that'll do, and goes back to his paperwork.

"…_yeah_…yeah…like _that_, come on, come _on_…OH, THAT'S RIGHT, BITCH, I'M THE POKEMON MASTER."

Crowley glares at him. "_Inside_ voice, love." he hisses. "Or I'll have to take your toy."

Gabriel gasps in horror. "You _fiend_! I CAN'T _SAVE_, THIS IS THE ELITE FOUR."

"That's loud enough." Crowley decides, yanking the game out of Gabriel's hands and flicking it off.

"WHAT NO CROWLEY WHAT HAVE YOU DONE I NEED TO START ALL _OVER _NOW WHY CROWLEY WHY"

Crowley ignores him, until he gets quiet again. He smirks down at his papers.

And then, almost so Gabe can't hear him…

"Crowley used 'Snatch'. It was super effective."

* * *

><p><em>Alternate ending:<em>

"WHAT NO CROWLEY WHAT HAVE YOU DONE I NEED TO START ALL OVER NOW WHY CROWLEY WHY"

Crowley ignores him, until he gets quiet again. He smirks down at his papers.

And then, almost so Gabe can't hear him…

"Crowley used 'Snatch Steal'. It was super effe-."

"YOU BASTARD, THAT'S NOT EVEN A POKEMON REFERENCE."


	12. The Evils of Sexting

Alternately: Why Gabriel should be kept away from technology

Rated: T

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><p>When Gabriel had first discovered the internet, Crowley had been mildly amused at the irony.<p>

(Because, of course, the internet was a demon invention. All those porn sites, the illegal downloading, the Nigerian princes, the terms of service and agreement, the _cat videos_, it was all straight from the pit.)

So, of course, Crowley found the irony in a former archangel using it.

His amusement had lasted straight up until he started getting spam email from a certain _trickstur4lyfe69_.

First, it was the viral videos, with titles like 'This changed my life, let it change yours'.

(Crowley didn't even bother opening these, he just sent them straight to the trash bin.)

Then, it was the 'Forward this to 11 friends or we will hunt down your family and kill them'.

(These, Crowley opened out of morbid amusement.)

After that, it was the 'face in the hole' videos, featuring Gabriel's smug grin.

(Crowley blocked the email, after that, but somehow, they still managed to get through.)

And _then_, Gabriel was sending him _porn_.

(And that was when Crowley sent his laptop flying out the third-story window.)

But still, he thought that Gabe had learned his lesson about abusing technology, after he'd denied him sex for a month and drawn Enochian sigils all over the house so he couldn't snap up any of his _own_ amusement.

Apparently not, because now, Crowley's looking down at his phone, and the latest text on the screen.

It's from a number he doesn't recognize, but he knows _very_ well who it's from because of the content.

It's a picture of Gabriel and some tiny blonde thing that has the look of one of his creations, in a very _compromising_ position. (The background looks vaguely familiar, but the picture quality isn't all that good, and he can't make out much more than the familiarity.)

Crowley's fingers hover over the buttons a moment, before he swiftly texts back- '_Angel, what the fuck?'_

He only has to wait a moment for the reply (and Gabriel must be _much_ more flexible than he realized, to text back so quickly.)

'_it's called sextin all the kool kids r doin it'_

Maybe Crowley's a glutton for punishment, but he replies.

'_And why, exactly, are you 'sexting' me?'_

(Something inside him dies a little for using a term like '_sexting_'.)

This time, Gabriel's reply takes a good five minutes, and Crowley is most decidedly _not_ thinking what could possibly take that long.

'_its n invite 2 the 3sum get ur ass ovr here'_

The text is accompanied by another picture of Gabriel and his blonde bimbo doing things that has Crowley both applauding their apparent stamina, and cringing. (Later, he'll deny the cringing.)

Crowley doesn't even bother to answer that, as the phone goes by way of his laptop.

He storms into his office, intending to distract himself by doing some long overdue paperwork, and then, stops short.

And realizes why the background from that first picture looks so damned _familiar._

Gabriel's having his '3sum' on his _desk._


	13. Dancing in the Dark

Rated: T

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><p>Gabriel should probably count himself lucky that he's never left his blade just sitting around Crowley's house, because there're some days that the demon wants nothing more than to stab him and hold the blade there and watch his wings blacken and turn to ash on the ground.<p>

Sure, the sex is good, and he'll be sad to have lost that, but there is a certain amount of shit he's willing to put up with, and Gabriel is constantly testing that thin, thin line between adventurous and suicidal.

Like that time when he made all the faucets in the house run chocolate syrup for two days.

Or that time Crowley walked into his living room, only to find that Gabe had decided to film the latest 'Casa Erotica' there. There are just some things that can never be unseen, demon or not.

And _who_ can forget the Great Chicken Fiasco of 2008, of which they have both sworn never to speak?

And, of course, _right now._

Gabriel's standing there, all fluffy hair, and puppy-dog eyes, and Trickster mischief, and Crowley has to resist the urge to either clean out his ears or _stab_ the idiot with his letter opener, because he's sure he heard him right, and nothing short of an angel-blade will actually _kill_ Gabriel, which is what Crowley would hope to accomplish with the stabbing.

"Oh, it's going to be so much _fun_, cupcake!" Gabriel exclaims, and if Crowley didn't want to hurt him before, he certainly did _now_, now that Gabe's pulled out the hated pet names.

But, Gabriel _is_ standing there, all fluffy hair, and puppy-dog eyes, and Trickster mischief, and _damn_, if that doesn't turn Crowley on, and he _knows_ that if he goes along with this, Gabriel's going to give him some _mind blowing_ make-up sex. Not to mention 'blowing'…_other_ parts of Crowley.

(As a demon, and the King of Hell, Crowley likes to think he doesn't tend to make split-second decisions with his dick. But the fact remains, that Gabriel, for a 'reformed' archangel, knows almost more about sex than _him, _and it's called 'the original sin' for a _reason_.)

"Just…one more time, angel. _What_, exactly, did you hope to accomplish by signing us up for ballroom dancing classes?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Also, I may have been drunk, but y'know, it's almost _impossible_ to get an angel drunk, but there _was_ that one time with Kali and-"

Crowley actually has to hold himself back from slamming his head against his desk.

Repeatedly.

Preferably, until he lost consciousness.

"-so I'm _pretty_ sure I wasn't drunk, so I guess it just seemed like the thing to _do_, and I know I'm _shit_ at dancing anything other than the horizontal tango, and I dunno about you, but-"

"Angel. For the bloody love of _fuck_, shut up."

Thankfully, Gabriel does, before Crowley's forced to do something drastic. Like staple his lips shut.

(He'd do it, too. Gabriel's a big boy, he'd get over it, sooner or later.)

There's a long pause, and then finally, Crowley speaks up.

"Pants off, angel, and bend over the desk."

Gabe snaps off _all_ his clothing, not just the required pants, and swaggers over to the desk in nothing but his naked skin and a shit-eating smirk on his face.

"So, is that a yes, or…"

"That is a _shut your bloody mouth_." Crowley growls at him. "If you're expecting me to go to your blasted…_dance class_, the _least_ you can do is be a _quiet_ angel while I have my wicked way with you."

The angel pantomimes locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key, and winks at him.

Crowley goes to unbuckle his belt, and then-

"But seriously, is that a yes or not?"


	14. In Sickness and In Health

Rated: K+

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><p>Gabriel's not dead right now, because he's not the same little brother that Lucifer had abandoned when he Fell.<p>

He's grown up (though it probably doesn't seem like it) and gotten stronger and smarter and more resourceful. He's become more stubborn, too, and it shows.

So what, Lucifer stabbed him with an angel-blade? Who cares that it's the only thing that can kill him? That doesn't mean he has to _die_. He just has to make it _look_ like he did.

Crowley's actually fascinated when Gabriel tells him what he did, because it's more well-thought out than he'd have expected from The Trickster. It's more resourceful than he'd have expected from an archangel.

(So maybe it's a good thing that Gabe's not really one or the other, anymore.)

Before Lucifer had stabbed him, Gabriel had sent his Grace away. He'd hidden it, in, of all places, the Winchester's Impala. (There was a _reason_ he'd been hiding in there, after Kali had 'killed' him.) He'd kept just enough to make a convincing illusion, of ashen wings on the floor of the hotel.

(Gabriel's really smarter than anyone gives him credit for, but he spends so much time acting like a magical five year old on crack that no one ever realizes.)

The thing about hiding his Grace away, though, was that it left him _without_ Grace. And it takes a while to get back.

So for the time being, Gabe was as human as he'd ever be, and seriously _not_ happy about it.

It was bad enough that he couldn't snap up candy, or video games, or TV, or _sex_, on a whim anymore, but he had all of a human's frailties, too.

Gabriel's sprawled out on Crowley's couch, complaining about nothing in particular (or maybe it's something specific. Crowley's not actually listening anymore, hasn't been, for the last couple of days.) and whining that he hasn't gotten laid _in a month_, when he sneezes.

Crowley slowly turns to look at the archangel (turned Trickster, turned something in between, turned-_hopefully_- temporary human), and Gabriel's trying to look at his own nose, because in the history of _everything_, Gabriel has never, _ever_ sneezed.

Gabe frowns, suddenly, and looks up at Crowley. "Cupcake? I don't feel so- _bleugah._"

('Bleugah' is the _subtle_ hint that Gabriel _may_ be sick, as he empties the contents of his stomach out onto Crowley's living room carpet.)

Apparently, Gabriel's human frailties include susceptibility to human _illnesses. _

Crowley sighs, and summons a minion to clean up Gabe's puke (there_ are_ perks to being the top demon, and having minions to do his dirty work is one of them), and realizes that he knows next to nothing about human sickness.

(The most Crowley knows about sick humans is what illnesses are most likely to drive them to a crossroads. He's thinking that this knowledge probably doesn't apply here.)

Gabe's dry heaving on his couch, and Crowley's at a loss to what to do, because it doesn't look like Gabriel knows any more than he does (and if he _does_, he doesn't look up to sharing).

"Crowley?" Gabriel sounds weak and pitiful, and it's equal parts amusing and heartbreaking. "I'm kind of cold. Gimme a hug?"

Crowley snorts, because there's no _way_ he's hugging the germ infested archangel. Gabriel's not fully human, right now, he still has bits and pieces of his Grace, and Crowley's not going to risk contact with whatever virus can get a demi-angel sick.

He tosses a blanket at Gabe, instead, and he mutters something along the lines of "Yeah, hug is secretly code for 'blanket'. Asshole.", and that reassures Crowley that he's not _dying_ or anything equally serious, so he takes the risk of leaving Gabriel alone for a moment, and goes to make a call.

The voice that answers the other end is gruff and suspicious.

"Singer residence. Who are you and how did you get this number?"

"Hello, Bobby." Crowley says, and takes a second to appreciate the noises Singer's making (are humans supposed to _splutter_?)

After his second is over, he continues talking. "I have a mutual acquaintance in my living room at the moment, and he's rather ill, and I hear you're the man to go to for information, so-"

Bobby cuts him off with a snort and says "Which one of my idjits have you got now?"

Crowley snickers, because he couldn't be further from the truth. "No, no, nothing of the sort, love. I've a sick angel on my couch and no idea how to deal with him, so if you would…"

"Castiel?" Singer asks, and there's actually a hint of worry in his voice.

"Getting warmer, but still not in hell." Crowley shoots back. "You're not going to _guess,_ and even if you _did_, I would have no problem lying to you, so let's cut to the chase, shall we? You get me my information, and I'll, say…help your boys out, the next time they get sent my way. Sound fair, Singer?"

"_Cuuuuuupcaaaaaaaaake_."

"Who was that?" Bobby asks. "And why are they asking for _cupcakes_? Just _what_ exactly passes for demons now?"

"I _wish_ it was a demon." Crowley mutters. (Because then, he could just smite the bastard and not have to deal with any of this shit.)

"_CUPCAKE."_

This time, Gabriel's louder, which is mostly due to the fact that he's gotten up and is walking towards Crowley, blanket trailing behind him like a cape.

"Love, go sit back on the couch." Crowley orders.

"I don't _wanna_." Gabe whines. "Your minions keep coming in and glaring at me, and I can't even _do_ anything to them and this _sucks balls_."

Poorly stifled laughing draws Crowley's attention back to the phone.

"Is that _Gabriel_?" Bobby, apparently, could hear every word, and was _highly_ amused.

Crowley spares a moment to direct Gabriel down to the kitchen table, and find some cold medicine in one of the cabinets. (He doesn't even know _why_ he has cold medicine to begin with, but he vaguely remembers Gabe saying something about the good old days and stuff that made you really, _really_ interested in carpet fibers for a few hours, so perhaps it's better to not ask questions.)

By the time he turns his attention back to the phone, Bobby's calmed down, for the most part.

"_Gabriel's_ the sick angel you have on your hands?" he says.

"Do you have any advice?" Crowley asks.

"Yeah," Singer says, and there's something in his voice that makes Crowley suspicious.

"Good _luck_…_Cupcake_"

Click.

Dial tone.

The Crossroad's King is in the middle of a truly admirable cursing streak, when the oddest expression crosses his face.

And he sneezes.

Gabriel looks at him, wide-eyed. Crowley glares back.


	15. Backstory is Always Necessary

Rated: T

* * *

><p>Demons today, in Crowley's opinion, were<em> sheep<em>. Easily led, easily _killed_, sheep.

All it took was a couple of the higher ups saying that getting the Morningstar out of the box was _the_ thing to do, and they were all chomping at the bit to curry favor.

What they didn't know (and Crowley obviously _did_) was that the higher ups were just as easily manipulated, and just as soon as Lucifer had used them to get free, he'd kill them all, human and demon alike.

It looked like the only thing standing in their way were the Winchester idiots and their pet angel, and wasn't _that_ reassuring, seeing as they were breaking seals left and right.

So, Crowley began planning. He made himself a safe-house, for when Lucifer rose, on the very likely chance he _would_ rise. Crowley was old (older than he'd like to admit) and he'd picked up more than a few interesting little trinkets in that time, things that would help to hide him from unwanted attention.

There was a very slim chance he'd make it out of this alive, but it was still a _chance_.

* * *

><p>The thing about safe-houses that makes them…well, <em>safe<em>, is that no one knows where they are. They're chock full o' weapons and protections, but if someone knows where you are, it's going to be a cakewalk to get past everything and get to _you_, and then, you're not very safe, now are you?

Which is why Crowley was so startled when he walked down into the kitchen of _his_ safe-house, and was faced with a TV he hadn't left there, and a…_thing_, perched on his counter, flipping channels.

(He'd say 'man', but he can _feel_ the power coming off of this thing, and it's in no way, shape, or form human.)

"Hey, do you get cable in here?" the stranger asks.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at that, because he's been around the block a few times, and had his share of life-or-death encounters and _none_ of them had started with 'Do you get cable?'

"No." Crowley replies shortly. "Who are you?" Because the sooner he finds out what this thing is, the sooner he can ward the place against _other_ things like him, and the safer he'll be.

The thing turns around, and grins at him. "You cut straight to the case, don't you?" he asks. "Well, I go by a lot of names, but I guess you can call me Gabe."

Gabe. Okay. So now, Crowley has a name to put to a face, and he can stop thinking of the thing in his kitchen as 'the thing in his kitchen'. Gabe. He can work with that.

"Right. _Gabe_." Crowley drawls. "Harder question, now. _What_ are you?"

Gabe mock swoons and fans himself with a hand. "Oooh, you're not even going to buy me a drink first?"

Crowley glares. Gabe winks.

"I've been a lot of things, to go with the names. But, right now…I'm The Trickster."

Crowley manages to refrain from cursing, but it's hard.

The Trickster. Not even _a_ trickster. He has _The_ Trickster sitting in his kitchen, and would you just _look_ at that, guess what wards and sigils don't work against?

"What do you want?" he asks.

The Trickster- Gabe- frowns, and it's the most serious expression Crowley's seen on his face in the entirety of their about-ten-minutes relationship.

"Huh. I'm not sure yet. Can I get back to you on that one?"

Without waiting for an answer, he snaps his fingers, and he's just _gone_, taking his TV with him.

* * *

><p>Gabe keeps popping up, at the most inopportune moments, and nothing Crowley does can convince him to stay out.<p>

It's maybe the fifth time Gabe's 'visited', when Crowley finds him in his bed. His eyes are closed, but if Crowley were a betting demon, he would bet anything that The Trickster wasn't actually asleep.

He turns to leave the room, because _obviously_ he's not going to be sleeping in a bed that's already occupied, when Gabe speaks up.

"Hey. We should sleep together."

Crowley turns around, and says "I don't know what you're used to, but I'm not sharing a bed with you."

Gabe winks at him and goes "Who said anything about _sleeping_?" Crowley blinks at him, because he _knows_ what he's getting at, but what he wants to know is _why_.

The Trickster keeps talking. "The way I see it is, you're sexy, _I'm_ sexy, and there's only _so_ much I can do with my own hands, and the world's going to shit anyway, so why the hell not?"

Crowley's thinking it over before he can actually realize _he's thinking about it_, but Gabe doesn't give him a chance to say yes or no. There's a snap of his fingers, and suddenly, Crowley's naked and in bed next to him, and Gabe says something along the lines of 'Oh look, you're already dressed for the occasion', but Crowley's not really paying attention to the words, because Gabe's doing _something_ with his fingers and his Trickster magic, and _damn_ if it doesn't make him horny as hell.

(It's the first time they fuck, and if Gabe is quieter and more hesitant than Crowley expected, and if Crowley is rougher than he normally is for sex, neither one mentions anything.)

* * *

><p>It's the fiftieth time Gabe's popped in and the tenth time they've fucked (not that either one of them is keeping track) when Crowley walks in on Gabe in the living room, polishing, of all things, <em>an angel-blade.<em>

Crowley stops short, because where the _fuck_ did The Trickster get his hands on an _angel-blade_? It's not like he could just walk up to one of the heavenly feather dusters and go 'Hi there, I was just wondering if I could take a look at your sword for a second'.

(Even if there _was_ an angel stupid enough to fall for that, Gabe couldn't exactly run off with it once he had it, because angels could always, _always_ track down their blades, sigils and wards be damned. By now, Crowley's realized that Gabe's hiding here, same as him, and there's no way he'd just lead Heaven's mercenaries straight to them.)

So Crowley asks. "Where did you get _that_?"

Gabe shrugs, not looking up at him.

"It's mine."

Crowley's mind blanks for a second, trying to process that, because there is no way, _none,_ that a trickster (_The_ Trickster, his mind corrects) could handle an _angel-blade_.

And then, he begins to process that, okay, there's no way The _Trickster_ could handle a blade, but what _could_ handle the blade?

"…Which one are you?"

Gabe still doesn't look at him. "You're a smart demon, Crowley, you can figure it out."

So Crowley thinks.

Gabe. Angel-blade. Angel. _Gabe_.

"_Gabriel_." Crowley whispers, in almost-terror, because he's been sharing a safe-house- screw that, _he's been fucking an archangel._

Now, Gabe (_Gabriel_) looks up at him, and his eyes are desperate and lost (Crowley's familiar with the expression, but he usually only sees it when they're in bed together). "I just…you should know. You've been- I don't wanna say _nice_, because I know you'll take it the wrong way, but...you _have._ And it didn't feel right keeping this from you, and I'm sorry, I'll go now if you want me to."

And Gabe (_Gabriel_) looks so young in that moment, and even though Crowley's a demon, and he knows that Gabriel's older than he'll ever _hope_ to be, he sees a scared, helpless child sitting on his couch, and he just wants to kiss him senseless, until Gabriel's grown up again and can make fun of him for being such a girl about this.

So, instead of running away in terror like he'd very much like to, Crowley sits down on the armchair across from Gabriel, and raises an eyebrow at him. "You're sorry, are you? Why don't you go ahead and _show_ me just _how_ sorry you are?"

He crooks a finger at the broken, lost archangel, and Gabriel gives him a sad little mockery of his usual smirk, but they'll work through this and they'll survive, because they _have_ to, because they're the only thing they have.


	16. All's Fair in Love and Tricksters

Rated: T

Warnings for fem!Gabriel and fem!Crowley (kind of)

* * *

><p>Dean's not as dumb as he'd like people to think, and Sam knows it. (How could he <em>miss<em> it, considering they're practically joined at the hip?) The thing is getting him to _admit_ that he has a little more than half a brain, and that he actually _uses_ it.

It takes a week for Bobby to get fed up with Sam's _sneaky_(read:obvious to everyone but Dean) plans, and then, suddenly, it's all "I need a book from this address. Go and pick it up. And for the love of _crap_, don't shoot the guy. Ya _idjits_."

Dean sulks all the way to their destination, and Sam has to resist the urge to shake him until he gives in and says something that's not about drinking or shooting things or sex (he only refrains because Dean is driving, and crashing into a tree really isn't on their agenda for the day.)

It's only because he's so focused on Dean, that he doesn't realize at first where they are.

Dean swears, parking the Impala, and that's the first sign that something's weird about this pickup Bobby has them doing.

"What the hell does Bobby want from _this _bastard?"

Sam looks up, and they're in front of one of Crowley's estates.

He shrugs, because he's never had as much of a problem with the Crossroad's King as Dean seems to have. "I guess Crowley has the book he wants?"

"_Still_." Dean whines, getting out of the car. "Since when are we all buddy-buddy with demons? It used to be find the monster, kill the monster, save the people, get out in time to have a little fun with the hot bartender. Y'know. The good old days."

Sam ignores his complaining, and walks up to the door.

(Somehow, Dean manages to beat him to the doorstep, and they have a brief, manly, slapfight over which one of them gets to ring the doorbell.)

Dean wins, and so, is the one standing in the front when the door opens.

He blinks, and takes a step back. Sam reaches for his gun, because nothing _good_ ever comes out of a startled Dean, when all of the sudden-

"Oh, _hello." _Dean's broken out the charm, and he's laying it on _thick._

Sam glances at whoever's opened the door, expecting one of Crowley's burly demon underlings, and, instead, is faced with a _chick_.

A really, _really_ hot _chick._

She's got dark hair, and darker eyes, and she's wearing this skirt-suit type thing that just serves to make her legs go _all_ the way up, and, then, Sam stops ogling her, because Dean shoves him out of the way, and winks at her.

"Uh, hey, we're here to pick up a book for-" he starts, but the girl cuts him off.

"Singer. Yes, I know. Actually, right _now_ is not a good time, so if you'd come back later-"

(Oh, _god_, her voice is rough and throaty and, sounds almost sexier than she looked, and she _looked_ damn sexy, Sam thinks. British, too, or something close to it.)

She's in the middle of politely trying to get them to leave, when another voice calls-

"Colette! Who's at the door? You're going to miss the _pillow fight_!"

(The new voice sounds scandalized that anyone would even _think_ of missing the _pillow fight_. Dean's eyes widen, and Sam thinks that maybe he's reevaluating his faith in God or something, because these kinds of things _do not_ happen to the Winchester boys.)

The new girl-who literally _bounces_ into view- is tiny, all hips, and curves, and dear _Jesus_, boobs. And she's _blonde_, the natural kind, not the kind that comes out of a bottle, and she's wearing a tanktop and a pair of plaid boxers that are just a _little_ too big for her, and just…did we mention the _bouncing?_

(And did we mention that Sam has a _thing_ for blondes? Case in point- Jess and Ruby, and, hell, Jo.)

"Gabriel_-elle. _Gabrielle." Colette grits out. "I'm _busy_."

Gabrielle peaks out the door, big blue eyes curious, and goes- "Ohhhh! Winchesters! You didn't tell me _Winchesters_ were coming!"

Dean's chest puffs out at that, because there's a completely hot chick-who, by the way, is having a _pillow fight_- who knows who they are, and if the appreciative lookyloo she's giving them is any indication, is _very_ impressed by what she sees.

Sam, however gets suspicious, _because_ there is a completely hot chick who knows who they are, _and_ said hot chick is in Crowley's house.

Wait.

Colette.

C_r_o_w_lette

Crowley.

…Oh _fuck_.

(Sam's pretty sure he knows what's going on, now, but he's not telling Dean, because this is the perfect opportunity to get him to act like he has a brain. Also, Sam might get some blackmail out of this, and what little brother would give up a chance at _that?_)

"Why don't you invite them in, Colette?" Gabrielle asks, batting her eyes at Dean.

"Yeah, _Colette_, why don't ya?" Dean joins in, smirking 'Dean Winchester Smirk #4- The Ladykiller'.

Colette rolls her eyes, and Gabrielle shoves her out of the way, and opens the door wider. "Come on in! We're going to have so much _fun_!"

Dean's looking like Christmas has come early, as he steps into the house. Gabrielle immediately gloms herself to his arm, cooing about how _big_ and _strong_ he must be, and she's laying on the innuendo so thick, Sam's surprised she hasn't drowned in it yet.

Sam catches Colette's eye, and the girl gives him an impressive sneer and a "Not a chance in hell, darling."

"The bedroom's up this way," Gabrielle says, pointing up the winding staircase.

"That's _my_ bedroom, angel. Just because you _use _it sometimes…" Colette grumbles, and then- "I need a drink."

"That sounds like a good idea." Dean says, but Gabrielle winds her arms around his neck and whispers something in his ear that actually makes the back of his neck turn firetruck-red, and he stops moving to follow the other girl.

Sam, on the other hand, has no issue trotting after her.

She's perched on the counter, with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey, and when he walks in, she fills up the glass, sliding it to him, and keeps the bottle for herself.

"I take it you've an idea of what that spectacular fucking excuse for an angel has done now?" she says, and she sounds exasperated.

Sam shrugs. "I might. You're Crowley, right?"

She (or is it he?) raises an eyebrow. "You always were the smarter moron."

He opens his mouth to take offense at that, but he's interrupted by the most girly shriek he's heard in his _life_.

"That's probably mine." Colette (Crowley?) says in resign, hefting herself (himself?) off the counter. "I can't imagine Moron Number One making that kind of noise."

Sam follows her (him?) out of the kitchen, to find that Dean's decimated a chair, and it holding up one of the legs like it's a weapon.

"_SAMMY_!" he bellows, "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE. IT'S THE TRICKSTER…GABRIEL…."

"I prefer Gabe, actually, hot stuff."

"SAM."

(Sam rolls his eyes, because, alright, maybe Dean's not as smart as he though.)

Gabrielle (Gabriel?) flutters his eyelashes at Colette (Crowley?), who's glaring at him.

"Angel." Colette (Crowley?) drawls out slowly (_still_ sounding sexier than she-he?- has any right to). "That chair was a gift from the Queen."

Gabrielle (Gabriel?) shrugs. "Hey, look at him, cupcake, not me. How's it _my_ fault if the mook is a spazz?"

(Sam settles on calling them Colette and Gabrielle, until they turn back-_if they turn back_- to keep the confusion down to a minimum.)

Colette raises an eyebrow. "_Somehow_, I imagine, this entire farce is your fault."

Another shrug from Gabrielle (Sam's getting the impression that she's not the least bit concerned with the improvised stake Dean's still waving at her). "You could have _told_ me the village idiots were coming for a visit."

"Would that have stopped you?"

She lets out a snicker that's all Trickster mischief. "Nope."

There's silence for a long moment, and then, Gabrielle snaps her fingers, and Gabrielle and Colette are Gabriel and Crowley.

(Gabriel snaps his fingers again, and pops himself up a lollipop. Crowley promptly takes it, and chucks it into a convenient garbage bin. Gabriel pouts. No one pays much attention to it.)

There's another long, awkward silence, with Gabriel waggling his eyebrows at a still-scowling Dean, and a quietly amused Sam, until Crowley speaks up, saying-

"If you can refrain from killing the idiot for a few minutes, I'll get that book Singer wanted."

The Winchesters make no promises, but Crowley leaves them alone in the room with Gabriel anyway.

Gabriel pales, realizing he's getting no help on _that_ front, and eyes the two brothers.

"Uh…hey, guys?"

Dean growls.

Gabriel makes an 'eep' noise.

Sam snickers under his breath.

(No one's dead when Crowley comes back, and the demon expresses his surprise.)


	17. Puppy Love

Rated: K+

Fun fact: According to Google Translate, 'Cruentum' means 'bloody' in Latin, but, hey, it's _Google __Translate_, I could be wrong here

* * *

><p>Hellhounds are designed to be, well…<em>hellish<em>. They function to retrieve the souls of deal-making humans, and they're _good_ at it. They're terrifying and ugly and evil.

Which is why it's maybe a little disturbing when the first thing Crowley hears upon walking into the kennel is-

"Aw, aren't _you_ just a bundle of fluff, yes you are, yes you _are_."

It's Gabriel, and he's flopped on the floor, next to one of the biggest, nastiest hounds Crowley has, the one he's named 'Cruentum'.

"It's a _hellhound_, angel, not a lapdop." he says by way of announcing his presence.

Gabe, predictably, ignores him, and continues. "You just want your tummy scratched, don't you? You gonna roll over for Gabe, huh? _Good boy_."

Crowley scowls. "You better be talking to the hellhound."

(He's really not sure, because Gabe could go either way with that.)

It's only later, that he realizes that Gabriel shouldn't have been able to see the hound to begin with.

When he brings it up, Gabe shrugs, and goes- "I know a guy who owed me a favor, who got his hands on some sort of vision-amulet. 'See what can't be seen' and all that jazz."

Crowley will never admit it, but the idea that Gabriel went out of his way, called in a favor he didn't have to, just to see his hounds, made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

(Demons don't _do_ warm and fuzzy, and the feeling was distinctly uncomfortable, but it was kind of…nice, it its own way.)

Later, Crowley's not sure whether to be appalled or not, when he finds out that Gabriel's apparently renamed Cruentum to _Mister Snugglesalot._


	18. Sock on the Doorknob

Rated: T

Alternately- All Orgies Come Complete With Goat

* * *

><p>Gabriel never does laundry, never goes shopping, never folds clothing. Why would he, when all he had to do for an entire new wardrobe was snap his fingers?<p>

Crowley has no problem with however Gabe's decided to acquire his clothing, except for the fact, that while he will snap his clothing into existence, he will _not_ snap it away once he's done with it.

He's a bit tired of walking around his house, only to trip over Gabriel's style du jour.

(You see, Gabriel's wardrobe changes according to his whim, so one day, he might be in biker chic, and the next, he'll be rocking what was fashionable in colonial times. Some days, he goes without clothes entirely.)

One thing that Gabriel _always_ sticks with, no matter what kind of clothing he's decided on, is socks.

Not just _any_ socks, either. These are socks that are so brightly colored, they could stop a charging Winchester at fifty paces. Some of the colors present on Gabriel's socks don't even have _names_, Crowley suspects, because they've permanently blinded their creators.

Gabe's fond of patterns, too. Polka-dots, striped, abstract squiggles, _flashing neon lights_, Crowley's seen them all on the archangel's feet.

It's gotten to the point that Crowley can't even hold business meetings in his house anymore, for fear that they'll see the socks lying around somewhere. (No matter _how_ many he picks up, more just seem to pop up out of nowhere, and, knowing Gabriel, he wouldn't doubt that's _exactly_ what they're doing.)

"Darling," Crowley says calmly to Gabe, "If you _insist_ on leaving your discarded apparel around my home, _I'm_ going to insist on burning them in holy fire."

Gabriel opens his mouth to retort, but Crowley's not done speaking. "And I'm not going to be particular about _who_ goes into that fire, either, angel."

"You meant 'what' right?"

"No."

After they had their little talk, Crowley stops finding clothing every which way in his home.

Until he takes a walk past what Gabriel's claimed as _his_ room. There's one, lone sock, wrapped around the doorknob- it's lime green, with orange polka-dots, and Crowley suspects that the person who created it is probably being tortured in hell right now, just for that sock alone.

Crowley's given Gabe an ultimatum, though, and that was 'no more clothing lying around my house', and that sock is most definitely _not_ a figment of his imagination (no matter how much he _wishes_ it was). He opens the door and walks in, without knocking (it's _his damn house_, why should he knock?)

It takes him a second to process what's going on, because Gabriel's on the bed in a tangle of sweat and limbs with three girls and- is that a _goat?_

The goat bleats when Crowley enters the room, and Gabriel looks up, and gives him a lazy, debauched grin.

"Cupcake! You here for the orgy?"

(Crowley vaguely remembers a conversation, where Gabriel had informed him, matter-of-factly, that it was _not_ an orgy, unless someone brought a goat.)

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him, and the goat wanders over to nibble at his shirt. "I wasn't aware you were having an…orgy, love."

A knowing glint enters Gabe's eyes, and his grin widens. "Oh, come on, man, I had a sock on the doorknob and _everything_! You _had_ to know that awesome sexy times were going on in here!"

(He must have snapped his fingers without him noticing, because now there's a fourth girl- and the goat- tugging at his shirt, and the girl's breathing in his ear that his clothes would look better on the floor, now wouldn't they?)

"Actually," Crowley says, with difficulty (he's a _demon_, not _dead_, and the girl's doing things right now that make him feel very, very _alive_), "I came to set you on fire."

Gabe laughs. (The girls laugh with him. The goat looks at everyone in confusion, before turning its attention back to Crowley's shirt, which, by now, is in a crumpled pile on the floor.)

And the Lord said, 'Let there be sex'.

And it was _very_ good.

(Even if the goat was kind of overrated, Gabriel admits later.)


	19. Give All My Secrets Away

Alternately: When In Doubt, Use Song Lyrics

Rated: T

* * *

><p>Crowley's a demon who enjoys the finer things in life. Good food, old wine, mansions the size of a small country, gorgeous, easy women, <em>decadence<em>, the whole nine yards.

Gabriel likes the finer things well enough, but he _also_ likes quick and easy. Fast food, boxed wine, slutty girls…_still_ decadence, but _cheap_ decadence.

(They don't have a lot in common, actually, but the sex is really, _really_ good, and who needs commonality after all?)

Gabriel's always had Crowley pegged as a Mozart or Bach or Beethoven or something else that puts him to sleep faster than the angelic choirs type.

So he really _is_ taken aback when he's going through Crowley's office on a…recon mission.

(He'd only been looking for his Pop Rocks, because the last time he'd tried to give Crowley a blowjob with them in his mouth, the demon had confiscated them.)

He doesn't find his Pop Rocks- he can always snap up more, anyway- but he _does_ find a drawer full of Ke$ha, and Lady Gaga, and..was that a _Justin Beiber _CD chilling on the bottom there?

Okay, so Gabriel was shocked at first, but he hasn't spent his years as the Trickster just sitting on his fine ass.

(He recognizes this for what it is- _leverage_- and he fully intends to _use_ it.)

When Crowley comes back to his office, Gabriel's sprawled out on top of his desk, regardless of the papers around him, tossing a Justin Beiber CD from hand to hand.

"Hiya, cupcake. Care to _explain_?" he drawls out, the glint in his eyes most decidedly evil.

Crowley freezes a moment, but recovers admirably. "The little bastard cut a deal." he says. "It's in good form to keep an eye on his career."

Gabriel smirks, and then, from _someone_ knows where, pulls out his cell phone.

"Angel, wha-" Crowley's cut off, as Gabriel presses a button, and _Crowley's_ phone starts ringing.

"Baby, baby, baby, _ooooohhhhhh_." Gabriel sings the line along with the ringtone, and somehow manages to turn it into a moan worthy of a porn star.

He waggles his eyebrows at Crowley.

"Now, you can keep trying to talk your way out of this, or you can put that mouth to, ah.._bigger_ and better things."


	20. Here's Hoping for a Wardrobe Malfunction

Rated: T

Fun fact: I don't actually care about football, but I'm from New York, and believe me when I tell you that the Giants winning the Super Bowl was more than just a 'big deal'.

* * *

><p>Gabriel watches the game every year.<p>

Sometimes, he doesn't even know who's playing- but it doesn't matter, because watching the Super Bowl is just an excuse to snap up an obscene amount of unhealthy snack foods, sit on his ass, and watch people hit other people.

(Not that he generally _needs_ an excuse, but sometimes, it's nice to have _justified_ debauchery.)

Crowley's personal opinion is that, while violence is most _definitely _of the good- and by 'good', he means '_demonic_ good'- football is _uncultured_ violence, lacking the finesse of anything he could dream up.

Crowley gets Gabe's text at eight o'clock, just as he's finishing up a deal with a neurosurgeon.

(The man wants to be rich, doesn't know how to kiss properly, and is currently treating Crowley like he's one of the man's blow-up doll girlfriends. Crowley is going to _enjoy_ ripping him apart in ten years.)

He feels his Blackberry vibrate in his pocket, and he read the text over the neurosurgeon's shoulder, as the man attempts to choke him with his tongue.

_'ned u now'__, _ which, in Gabriel-text-language, means- "I need you here, _now_."

"Pleasure doing business with you." he tells the man, as he pulls away, pulls out a handkerchief to wipe his mouth. "Even if you _do_ kiss like a particularly aggressive trout."

(And then he's gone, walking through the shadows, and before the handsy doctor can even let out an affronted yelp, he's standing back in front of his villa.)

He snaps his fingers to unlock the door- winces because Gabriel's rubbing off on him- and walks in.

Stops.

Blinks.

Raises an eyebrow.

Blinks again.

"Cupcake! You made it in time for kickoff!"

Gabriel's lounged out in the foyer, feet up on a couch, with an obscenely large television taking up most of the hallway.

(There are two _incredibly _attractive women feeding him grapes, as if football wasn't _already_ enough like a gladiator battle.)

Crowley glares at him.

"Darling, I thought we were agreed that I wasn't going to watch this _barbaric-"_

Gabriel cuts him off, by snapping up another girl to fawn over Crowley. "I know what we _said_, but, dude, this is the _Super Bowl_! I hear New York is going to have a _parade_ if the Giants win!"

Crowley doesn't particularly _care_ what kind of festivities are going to happen, doesn't _care_ who wins or loses, but the girl is doing something _very_ interesting with his ear right now, and her purple shirt is riding up _just_ so, and-

"Why purple, angel?"

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Come again, Cupcake?"

"Why is everything this blinding shade of... _purple_?"

"Oh, _that_." Gabe waves a hand at one of the girls, and she comes over with a plate of hot wings. "See, both teams have blue and red, and if you mix it together, you get-"

"_Purple_. " Crowley finishes, though with quite a bit of difficulty, because now, the girl's on her knees in front of him, and that's a distraction only topped by _Gabriel_ on his knees in front of him.

He's still not happy about being called for something as trivial and mundane as _football_, but it looks like Gabe has a rather promising orgy in the works, so maybe Crowley will forgive him this one time, as long as he doesn't bring the goat back into the picture, because _last_ orgy, they'd all agreed that the goat was a bit overrated.

(Still, Crowley makes a mental note, if Gabriel ever does anything like this ever again, he'll personally ensure that the angel's hot wings are deep-fried in holy oil.)


	21. Candy Clearance Day

Alternately: Valentine's Day- It's Not Just For Cupids Anymore

Rated: T

* * *

><p>Gabriel's pretty much gone completely pagan by this point.<p>

(And isn't _that_ ironic, because, for the first time in _centuries_, he's _Gabriel_ again, the _archangel_, not the Trickster.)

But, the fact remains, he's fucking a demon, and that's about as pagan as you can get.

Gabriel doesn't celebrate a lot of holidays- Christian or otherwise.

Crowley knows by now that there _are_ a few he does celebrate, though.

First and foremost, is April Fool's Day.

(Gabe affectionately dubs it 'Trickster Christmas'.)

Then there's Halloween, of course.

They usually celebrate Christmas with a twenty-four hour sex-a-thon, during which Gabriel takes great delight in pretending Crowley is the Virgin Mary.

(Three years ago, Gabe actually turned him _into_ The Virgin, and that's where Crowley drew the line.)

But the one holiday Gabriel celebrates _religiously_- poor choice of wording- is 'Candy Clearance Day'.

Technically, Crowley likes to remind him, it's not a holiday.

(Gabriel responds to that by sticking out his tongue and shooting back- "See if I share any with _you_, spoilsport.")

It's the day after Valentine's Day, and Gabe takes unholy- another poor word choice- glee in snatching up every single heart-shaped box of chocolate he can find.

(Crowley points out that Gabriel is perfectly capable of snapping up his own candy. Gabriel locks himself and his candy in the bedroom, and relegates Crowley to the couch for a week. It's ridiculous, because it's _Crowley's_ bedroom.)

Candy Clearance Day is sacred, and Crowley learns to accept that fact.

(Mostly because he's just happy Gabe's stopped inviting over his cherubic brethren on Valentine's Day.)

Because if Crowley has to walk into his house, just to be assaulted by a fat, _naked_ angel in a diaper, _one more time_, certain _things_ were going to be set on fire.

Staring with, and _certainly_ not limited to, Gabriel's Candy Clearance Day candy.


End file.
